


Awkward

by Gem_Gem, KittieHill



Series: Kittie And Gem Stories [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Awkward Conversations, Awkward Sexual Situations, Awkwardness, Clinical Discussions about anal sex, Coming In Pants, Finger Sucking, Intercrural Sex, Jam, M/M, Masturbation, Me and Gem have an Awkward Sex Kink, Nipple Play, Sherlock Being Sherlock, surprise orgasm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-14
Updated: 2015-08-17
Packaged: 2018-04-14 18:09:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4574610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gem_Gem/pseuds/Gem_Gem, https://archiveofourown.org/users/KittieHill/pseuds/KittieHill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Myself and my pervy muse Gem_Gem have a little bit of an awkward sex/Sherlock kink and we began discussing this as an idea for a story. It sort of spiralled out of control and is now multiple chapters.</p><p>Beta'd once more by my wonderful and amazing SherlockHolmesconsultingvampire who stayed up late to beta the first chapter. She's pretty awesome.</p><p>So yes... please comment!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“John, I think we should talk.”

The doctor looked up from under his newspaper with a frown and met the eyes of his best friend; Sherlock stood nervously clasping his hands in front of him as he stared down.

“Yeah of course, what’s up?” John asked, folding away the paper and pulling himself higher in his chair as Sherlock took his seat opposite, inhaling deeply before exhaling.

“I’m afraid it’s rather a… sensitive matter,” Sherlock started before moving his fingers to his lips. “It’s about masturbation.”

“Oh,” John gulped. "Go on.”

“I’m afraid that you might have a problem,” Sherlock continued. “I’m not judging, of course, I myself have had issues with addiction and self-control, however, I feel it is becoming an issue for you. Your masturbation schedule has increased almost six times its normal rate and you are no longer dating. I think you are avoiding sexual contact with women in order to continue your self-pleasure.”

John gawped, his eyes almost falling from his head like a cartoon character as he stared at Sherlock. “I…What?”

“I understand addiction, John. I realise it is difficult to admit when you have a problem but I am fairly certain that I can arrange with Mycroft to have you transferred to an extremely discreet clinic for treatment.” Sherlock nodded, absolutely serious as he looked over at his friend caringly.

“Sherlock… what the buggering fuck?” John laughed, a bubble of hysteria threatening to pop and overtake his entire body as he shook his head.

“You used to masturbate once nightly or at most twice a day if you weren’t at the clinic until late,” Sherlock explained. “However, recently you have been masturbating maybe five or six times a day.”

“It’s terrifying that you know that,” John huffed.

“Oh please, it’s not a terribly difficult deduction,” Sherlock commented snidely. “You leave for your bedroom throughout the afternoon and come down red faced and hood eyed. Plus the overwhelming scent of your musk which hangs around the bathroom.” Sherlock rolled his eyes. “It’s hardly a secret.”

John held his hand up and shook his head, stopping Sherlock mid flow. “I think I ought to explain.”

* * *

**3 weeks before**

John yawned and scratched his belly as he walked down the stairs and shuffled into the kitchen; Sherlock sat at the table, his hands clad in latex gloves as he wiggled the petri dish and scowled at its contents.

“M’nin,” John grumbled as he clicked on the kettle and stretched for his favourite mug, pulling down Sherlock’s own preferred cup ( _one stolen from Lestrade with_ _‘world_ _’s best detective_ _’ written on it, ridiculous)_ he began to make tea before turning and looking at his friend absently.

“Mrs Hudson made scones?” John asked as he picked up one and ripped it in half, feeling that they were still oven warm.

“Yes,” Sherlock answered. “Could you hand me the jam?”

John frowned at the lack of manners but expecting nothing different from the detective, he took out the jar of raspberry jam from the cupboard and opened the lid, handing it to Sherlock who frowned. “Gloves, John.”

“Well… what do you want me to do?” John asked tensely.

Sherlock grumbled and took hold of John’s wrist, dipping John’s fingers into the sticky jam before pulling them out and smearing John’s hand over the warm scone top. John could only frown as he was used as a human butter knife by his mad-bastard of a flatmate.

Once Sherlock was satisfied he had enough jam on his scone, he let go of John’s hand and pulled off his latex gloves. Depositing them on the table, he turned to his friend and smiled sweetly in that _not- quite-genuine_ way he had perfected.

“Great, now I have fingers covered in jam,” John grumbled, staring down at his sticky hand.

“We had no clean knives,” Sherlock shrugged.

“You could have washed one instead of using me as a bloody kitchen utensil, Sherlock,” John griped.

“Oh, for goodness sake. Here,” Sherlock said as he grasped John’s hand and put it into his mouth. John could only blink in shock and momentary horror as Sherlock created a powerful amount of suction around his index and middle fingers. John’s eyes widened as Sherlock’s tongue swept around the entire area of skin, licking and caressing the flesh to ensure he hadn’t missed any of the sticky preserve before pulling away and grabbing his scone, pushing it into his mouth and taking a bite.

“Don’t forget the tea,” Sherlock insisted as he turned and flounced into the sitting room, leaving John standing silently, blinking unseeing at the space where the detective had once occupied, with a massive erection barely hidden by his dressing gown.


	2. Chapter 2

**2 weeks ago**

Life at Baker Street had returned to normal after the unusual turn it had taken the morning of the ‘ _jam incident_ _’_ as John had taken to calling it mentally. Sherlock had made no moves to touch John intimately or even hint that he had noticed how very not good sucking your straight flatmate's fingers was.

John had masturbated furiously over the memory of Sherlock’s bow lips wrapped around his fingers; his brain had reverted to teenage mode and insisted on providing John with almost constant erections from morning until night, which refused to cease until he had taken himself in hand. After a week with no incidents, he had cooled his passions for his unusual friend and had continued his role as tea bringer, pen provider and occasional sounding board for Sherlock who ranted and raved at the lack of substantial cases.

Their luck had changed when Lestrade had called regarding a sudden rush of theft cases from high profile businessmen and bankers. These men had attended business meetings at an expensive hotel, and had then awoken in a sleazy motel in their pants and vests, tied to the mattress with all of their belongings stolen. Sherlock had taken the case and immediately set about working through the clues, stringing up pictures on the wall and pacing back and forth across the living room floor until he stopped with an _oh_ of understanding.

“Get your coat. We’re going out,” he insisted, not looking at John who promptly followed his detective ( _his detective? When did that happen)_ into the night.

Sherlock was on sparkling form as they approached the expensive hotel and sat in the lobby. The pair watched as the business men arrived for their meetings and then stayed to people watch until they returned and moved to the bar. Ordering indecently expensive champagne and scotch, the men back-slapped one another and talked loudly about contracts and interest rates as they became more and more intoxicated. Sherlock watched as a small group of women approached the bar, all tastefully dressed in high class, designer outfits and heels. The men wolf whistled and made comments to the ladies who smiled and joined the men, ordering drinks and whispering into the ears of the suited gents until time was called at the bar.

Sherlock and John followed the men and their dates out of the bar and onto the street; the women were flirtacious and giddy as they went their separate ways, each with their own banker or business man in tow. Sherlock chose one at random and followed at a safe distance, watching as the woman occasionally stopped to snog the fat banker at regular intervals down the street.

“Sherlock?” John asked, only to be shushed by the brunet who was in full on detective mode, following the couple down the pavement before watching them enter a low-rent, charge by the hour sleazy motel. John swallowed and watched as Sherlock entered the premises and listened to the woman and her banker in front. They paid for the hour in cash taken from his wallet before she sauntered through the doorway leading to the lifts.

“I want the room next to theirs,” Sherlock insisted to the bored looking, spotty student at reception.

“Why?” The kid asked, blowing a bubble with his chewing gum.

“Because I’m extremely aroused by fat men making grunting noises,” Sherlock sighed and rolled his eyes. “I believe it was room 17?”

The boy handed the keys to Sherlock who handed him a wad of notes which was far more than the cost of the room before the detective was off again, taking long strides over the slightly sticky and tacky carpet. John followed immediately after, stopping only when Sherlock opened the door and practically pulled John through the entrance before closing it behind them.

“It won’t take long,” Sherlock insisted, narrowing his eyes at the bed but seemingly deciding not to risk his tailored trousers being covered in goodness knows what. John, however, didn’t hesitate and sat on the edge of the bed staring at his friend.

“What are we doing?”

“I’m listening, whereas you’re distracting,” Sherlock seethed through closed teeth, before pulling the one chair from it’s place by the window towards the wall which separated them from the couple. The two men were millimetres away from one another's knees; John closed his eyes and listened to the sound of Sherlock breathing before the detective began to whisper.

“She’s taken off her dress now.”

John blinked his eyes open and looked at his friend. “How do you know?”

Sherlock didn’t deem an answer sufficient so continued his deductions. “He is laid out on the bed, probably bottomless. His penis is hard but smaller than average due to both his weight and stature.”

“Don’t say penis,” John grumbled before shaking his head.

“She is wearing white lacy underwear. Possibly French cut or thong. I can’t be certain without more data,” Sherlock continued, unaware of John’s squirming. “Her pubic hair is completely shaved… no, waxed, she’s recently been waxed.”

“You couldn’t possibly know that!” John insisted.

“She’s part of a professional conwoman group. She won’t leave DNA therefore the probability of her having no pubic hair is larger,” Sherlock deduced before quietening.

“She’s climbing onto the bed. Her thighs will be stretched around his midsection, uncomfortably so. She will get sore muscles.” He huffed a laugh before shaking his head and focussing.

“Why are we listening to two people having sex? It’s none of our business,” John whispered, hoping Sherlock didn’t notice the way he rearranged his rapidly growing cock in his jeans.

“Because she’s going to…there! Did you hear it?” Sherlock hissed, grabbing his phone and texting Lestrade immediately.

“No? Hear what?” John asked.

“As she inserted his penis into her vagina,” Sherlock spoke clinically, “she injected him with something to render him unconscious or unable to move. The pleasure of being sheathed in the warmth of her body and the pleasure at seeing such a beautiful woman on top of him would have stopped him being aware of the puncture mark.” Sherlock clapped his hands on his thighs. “Oh, she’s good.”

“Jesus! If she’s injected him shouldn’t we get involved? He might be hurt!” John ordered, adrenalin beginning to pump around his body.

“I imagine he would be terribly upset if we interrupted.” Sherlock laughed just as the sound of Scotland Yard pounding through the wood next door crashed through the thin wall. “Gordon will sort him out.”

“Greg.” John shook his head and sighed. “Is that it then?”

“Hmm?” Sherlock looked up and then scanned John’s features, his eyebrow lifting slightly before shrugging it away. “Yes. Angelos?”

John nodded and waited until Sherlock was up and away from the bed before dipping his hand into his pants to rearrange his cock to a manageable walking position. His cheeks flamed as he followed behind Sherlock, making small talk until they reached the restaurant and were given their usual table complete with candle.

“I don’t understand sex,” Sherlock grumbled. “I mean… I understand the mechanics, the science and the biology behind it but it’s the intent. Why on earth would somebody want to do something so messy, risky and personal to another person?”

John choked slightly on a piece of pasta before clearing his throat. “Sherlock, you blow stuff up in our kitchen sink and cut up bodies in our bath. How can you think sex is messy but that’s okay?”

Sherlock waived his hand dismissively in John’s direction. “Experiments are useful, John.”

“So, you haven’t then?”

Sherlock gave a look which screamed _don_ _’t be obvious_ but simply shrugged. “Never seen the point.”

“It’s a release, it feels good and it creates a bond with another person. It makes you feel wanted and cared for, desired and sexy.” John flushed red before taking a sip of wine.

“So, if I said ‘John Watson, I have an overwhelming desire to put your penis in my mouth’ you would feel sexy?” Sherlock asked, ignoring the waitress who had almost dropped the tray of cutlery she was carrying past their table.

“Christ, Sherlock, shut up,” John hissed, going even redder.

“Or, ‘I have an urge to allow you to anally penetrate me, first with your index finger but slowly stretching my anus around the girth of your three fingers. Then I want you to insert your penis into my rectum and thrust to hopefully stimulate my prostate to allow pre-ejaculate fluid to flow between us. Then, I would enjoy it if you would ejaculate inside my body,” Sherlock continued, watching John’s face intently with a puzzled look. “Really? You enjoy that?”

“Fucks sake, don’t speak like that!” John ordered, looking around him and throwing his napkin onto the table.

“You said you weren’t gay, yet you have had a definite reaction to somebody discussing homosexually related acts,” Sherlock stressed, pointing at John with his fork.

“It’s just… been a while and you shocked me by talking like that,” John stressed. “I need to use the bathroom.”

Sherlock chuckled and raised an eyebrow, watching as John spluttered and slapped him slightly across the head. “Not like that. You cock.”

“You cock,” Sherlock giggled before forking more lasagne into his mouth.


	3. Chapter 3

**1 week ago:**

“Joooooooohn?”

The doctor blinked his eyes open and looked at the clock on his bedside table. It wasn’t quite 5am yet, but apparently Sherlock the sleepless wonder needed him for something.

“What?” He called down angrily.

“Case, John! Let’s go!” Sherlock replied giddily, pulling on his shoes, coat and scarf as he grabbed for his mobile.

John grumbled and climbed out of his bed; pulling on a fresh pair of boxers, jeans and a comfortable jumper he grabbed socks on the way downstairs and quickly put them on as Sherlock was flicking through crime scene pictures already emailed to him by Lestrade. John stretched his arms above his head and turned around to grab his mobile phone, feeling a strange and foreign feeling of fingers brushing down his trousers and along his arsecrack.

“What the fuck?” John growled, jumping backwards in alarm as he glared at Sherlock. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Your tag was out,” Sherlock frowned. “I put it back in.”

“You touched my arse,” John commented. “You ran your fingers down my crack.”

“I can assure you I did nothing of the sort,” Sherlock insisted and rolled his eyes. “I’ll leave you looking like an idiot next time.”

“Nobody would have noticed my bloody pants tag,” John grumbled as he followed Sherlock out of the door and down to Baker Street where Sherlock quickly hailed a cab.

They travelled to an empty carpark on the outskirts of an industrial estate, where Lestrade and his team were standing around looking despondent as Sherlock climbed from the cab and strode to the body, leaving John to pay the fare. John followed after his friend, giving a quick nod to Greg, Donovan and Anderson who stood glaring at the detective who had already begun his investigation and was sniffing the corpse.

“How are you?” Lestrade asked, standing back from the crimescene and lighting a cigarette. “Any more poisonings or melted jumpers?”

“Nah, he’s been alright,” John laughed, realising they were talking about Sherlock as though he was a puppy or a child.

“You’re a bloody saint,” Lestrade laughed, taking a drag. “I think I'd have strangled him by now.”

“He’s not that bad,” John laughed, watching as Sherlock stood and began to walk back and forth beside the body. Muttering and pacing whilst looking down at the body and then up and John.

“What? Stop looking at me!” John laughed, watching as Sherlock’s eyes widened and his mouth fell open in understanding. “What? What did I say?”

“Peeping Tom! You’re a genius, John!” Sherlock laughed and put his hands on either side of John’s head, spinning them both around before planting a wet and sloppy kiss directly on John’s lips. “My conductor of light!”

John blinked, flushed, and then blinked again as he noticed that around him people were staring wide eyed and slack jawed as Sherlock rushed off to do… whatever it was that Sherlock did. John was left on the crimescene with the Yard staring intently and confused at him.

“I’m not a peeping Tom,” was the only thing John could think of saying before he began to slope off in the general area of where Sherlock had run. He didn’t turn back and thus didn’t see Lestrade win the bet of £50 from Anderson.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter. May continue it at a later date. 
> 
> Also, it appears that me and Gem are really 12 yr old boys in grown up lady bodies. Farting is hilarious.

**Today**

John held his hand up and shook his head, stopping Sherlock mid flow “I think I ought to explain”

Sherlock stilled and sat back in his chair as John cleared his throat “Are you aware that you have touched me more than normal recently?” the doctor asked careful, watching as Sherlock frowned and shook his head “Well, you have. It all started when you sucked my fingers after the Jam incident”

“The Jam Incident?” Sherlock tittered before quietening and listening to his friend.

“Then there was the stakeout with the discussion of pubic hair, then Angelo’s with you talking about me preforming anal sex on you… then you touched my arse and bloody _kissed_ me at the crime scene” John laughed mirthlessly.

Sherlock remained confused and shook his head to show this fact.

“What I’m trying to say…” John trailed off before inhaling deeply and continuing “I’ve been masturbating more to combat the erections that you have given me”

“I don’t understand” Sherlock whispered, his cheeks suddenly pink and flushed

"What part of that don't you get?" John huffed in embarrassment and frustration, speaking slowly and staring at Sherlock intently. "The reason I've been...pleasuring myself so much is...because...of...you."

Sherlock blinked and frowned before mouthing the words _because of me_

John was getting more embarrassed by the second, "Yeah...yes."

“I… arouse… you?” Sherlock asked

"You know what you say about not asking stupid questions you know the answers to?" John muttered with a shift of his hands, gesturing at Sherlock irritably, before he rubbed his blushing face. "Yes! All right? Yes. You...you do. Arouse me. Quite a lot, actually. There. I said it. Do of that information, what you will."

John hadn’t expected the sudden rush of six foot something consulting detective climbing over him and straddling his lap; Sherlock grasped the back of John’s head hard and pulled him down for a kiss, completely failing to use his brain to work out the mechanics of a movement. John’s head collided with his own and left both men breathless and blinking with pain as skulls cracked against one another.

“Ow” John grumbled, rubbing his forehead “Not exactly smooth there”

“Shut up” Sherlock sulked, pulling back slightly and folding his arms as John moved his hands to hold onto Sherlock’s hips.

John smiled and lifted his head, pursing his lips and allowing Sherlock to meet him in the middle until their lips touched. John’s cock twitched in his pants as Sherlock’s plush lips rubbed against his own ones in a remarkably chaste kiss which was soon deepened to something more needy and desperate. John opened his mouth and swept his tongue over the seam of Sherlock’s lips, coaxing it open before caressing the inside and sighing happily at the taste of morning tea and toothpaste which mingled with his own.

Sherlock whimpered, his hips rocking forward in an attempt to find friction as John supported his weight, keeping him upright as he ground against John’s erection. The younger man was rapidly losing control, his eyes rolling back and his mouth opening and closing with each tentative thrust of his hips. John moved his hands and began unbuttoning Sherlock’s shirt, realising that he was still in pyjamas and gown whilst the detective was fully dressed. Sherlock opened his eyes and watched the skilled doctor’s hands move down his shirt, undoing each button and running his fingers over the pale skin beneath as more and more was bared to John.

“Beautiful” John mumbled, unaware that he was speaking. Sherlock blinked and flushed, dipping his head and looking up through long eyelashes,

When all of the buttons were open; John peeled the fabric back until it hung loosely from Sherlock’s shoulders, his fingers skimmed the thin torso, caressing each individual rib before circling Sherlock’s bellybutton and returning up to his dusky pink nipples which were pebbled and desperate for attention. John didn’t hesitate to take those sweet nubs into his hands and rolled them between his thumb and index finger, smiling at the stunned reaction it created in Sherlock who arched his back and let his eyes flutter closed. John grinned and licked the pads of his fingers before returning them to Sherlock’s nipples, tweaking and pulling on the sensitive buds.

“Good boy” John whispered, moving his lips to cover Sherlock’s nipples before biting softly, licking around the swollen nubs and areola before biting again. The detective could only cry out, grasping at John’s shoulder tightly as John nursed on his nipples, bringing him rapidly to the edge with only his tongue and teeth.

“J-John” Sherlock cried, his back arching and his head falling back as a shudder ran through his body and a burst of warmth exploded into his trousers. John watched enraptured as Sherlock cried out, his body tensing followed immediately by a wet heat which dripped through Sherlock’s trousers and onto John’s pyjamas.

“Did you… Did you just come?” John asked, his eyes wide.

“I… I don’t know. Something happened down there” Sherlock added

“Sherlock, have you ever had an orgasm before?” John asked, aware of how ridiculous this conversation was whilst they were sitting in spermy trousers with Mrs Hudson directly below them.

The detective frowned, obviously trying to think of the answer before shrugging. “May have deleted it.”

John chuckled before pulling Sherlock down for a passionate kiss; it was slower and more controlled than their first attempt but held just as much promise. John held Sherlock tightly until the shivering ceased and then stood them both up, leading the younger man into his own bedroom which was closer.

“Are you going to anally penetrate me?” Sherlock asked nervously, stilling in the doorway and taking his hand from John’s as the doctor turned to stare.

“No, not today. I don’t want to rush,” John soothed softly. “You don’t have to do anything at all, Sherlock, if you… don’t feel the same as me.”

“Of course I do!” Sherlock insisted with a huff. “I just… haven’t prepared.”

John frowned and shook his head that he didn’t understand before Sherlock grumbled. “I need the toilet.”

“Ah… erm… carry on then,” John nodded in the direction of the bathroom. “I’ll just… wait here.”

“It's fine, it can wait.” Sherlock waved a hand dismissively. “Where were we?”

“Sherlock, you shouldn’t hold it. Go to the bathroom and I’ll wait here for you,” John sighed, scrubbing his face with his hands.

Sherlock looked as though he was about to stamp his feet and have a complete toddler temper tantrum. “It is not imperative that I use the bathroom at this moment. I am more than capable of controlling my bodily functions.”

“Christ, you’re annoying,” John chuckled, pulling Sherlock down for a passionate kiss which wiped all of Sherlock’s conversational abilities.

The two men kissed for a few long moments, their breathing hitching with each sweep of their tongues against one another as John wrapped his arm around Sherlock and held him close before realising they were still standing in the middle of the room. John helped the younger man onto the bed and began slowly stripping him of clothes, throwing away the garments until Sherlock sat on his mattress wearing only cum soaked and seemingly expensive boxer shorts. John stripped him of the fabric barrier and quickly took off his own clothing before pushing Sherlock back onto the bed and straddling the man’s waist, their cocks pressed together, Sherlock’s already plumping and half hard against John’s own erect one.

John began to kiss and suck at Sherlock’s lower lip, his hands running through Sherlock’s curls as he positioned them as spoons; John being the big one, Sherlock the smaller despite his taller height. John wiggled until his cock was lodged between Sherlock’s thighs and began a slow and gentle rocking rhythm, his buttocks tensing with every thrust into the soft, warm vice of Sherlock’s legs. The detective could only moan and push back, enjoying the sensations of John’s cock pressing against his perineum and the underside of his balls as he stroked himself in time with John’s hips.

“John,” Sherlock growled.

“Ummm,” John mumbled, his lips moving to kiss and nibble at the back of Sherlock’s neck and throat as he increased the speed in his hips. Sherlock cried out, leaning forward and wrapping his hand around his cock tighter, stroking harder and snapping his hips back to push against John’s prick.

The doctor moved his free hand to grab Sherlock’s buttock, pulling it out slightly as he gave a delightfully forceful thrust, listening to Sherlock grunt and then a strange _ffffftt_ noise that John couldn’t place at first. John frowned and looked at the profile of the detective, his cheeks were flushed crimson red and his eyes were slammed shut.

“Sherlock?” John asked before his brain caught up with him. “Did you just fart?”

“Don’t be absurd,” Sherlock insisted, his voice small and childlike

“You did… didn’t you?” John giggled, his shoulders shaking with glee. “Sherlock Holmes has just farted on me.”

“Joooooohn,” Sherlock flailed, grabbing the pillow from above his head and putting it over his face in mortified shame.

“Hey, hey stop that,” John chuckled, attempting to keep himself calm and collected when all he wanted to do was bend double and cackle like a toothless old crone.

“Please leave,” Sherlock murmured through the fabric of the pillow, “…are you gone?”

“You know I’m not. My cock’s still trapped between your thighs,” John giggled.

“Oh… right,” Sherlock muttered, opening his thighs and baring John to the cool air of the flat. “Goodbye. I’m just going to stay here until I die of shame.”

John rolled his eyes. “God forbid you’re dramatic. Sex is messy and weird Sherlock; that’s what happens. There are weird noises and smells and occasionally you get a hair in your mouth or you get cramp and need to stop so you can do a strange jig until it stops. It’s normal.”

“This is normal?” Sherlock groaned, low and morose.

“Well, hiding under a pillow isn’t, no,” John chuckled before placing a kiss between Sherlock’s shoulder blades.

“I’m so embarrassed,” Sherlock admitted.

“Why? I’m a doctor, a soldier,” John reassured. “I’ve heard, seen and pulled things from people’s arses that would make your hair white.”

“Delightful,” Sherlock grimaced but allowed the pillow to fall slightly.

“Farting is natural. As is emptying your bowels so please stop panicking that I’m going to think you’re some kind of mutant for needing to do them,” John smiled, stroking his fingers through Sherlock’s curls. “I still fancy you rotten.”

Sherlock turned until he was facing John; his cheeks and nose were still flushed red, as were the tips of his ears but he had calmed down during John’s calming speech. He ran his fingers across John’s face and let his lips meet his lover's for a chaste kiss whilst his hand moved to cup and roll John’s erection in his hand. Unsure what to do next, Sherlock looked up and blinked at John until John wrapped his fingers around Sherlock’s and began to stroke in a steady rhythm. When Sherlock was sure he had the correct positioning and timing, he swatted John’s hand away and took over by himself, twisting his palm around the tip and spreading the copious precum across the silken head as he slicked both his hand and John’s prick.

“Yesss,” John hissed. “Just like that, little faster.”

Sherlock picked up the pace, watching John’s face for tells as he brought his lover closer and closer to orgasm; John’s face tightened and his eyes fluttered closed before he gave a warning that he was close. Sherlock continued to stroke but looked down between their bodies, watching the head of John’s cock peek from beneath his hand and the foreskin around it. John bucked his hips once, twice and then he was coming with a deep growl, his hot strands of cum soaking Sherlock’s fist and lower stomach as John shuddered through his orgasm and huffed out the deep breath he had been holding.

“Was that… acceptable?” Sherlock asked with a grin.

“Mmmmm,” John nodded, nuzzling into raven curls, “wonderful.”

“This wasn’t how I expected the conversation to end,” Sherlock admitted with a dry chuckle.

“I’m glad it did… farty pants,” John giggled, watching Sherlock flush and drop his head beneath John’s chin.

“Twat,” Sherlock muttered, listening to John begin to chuckle again and being jostled by the doctor’s shaking shoulders.

“Not exactly pet names, but they’ll do.”


End file.
